


The Pleasure of Your Trust

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram, theconsciousdarkness



Series: Therapy [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, Crossdressing Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Situational Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theconsciousdarkness/pseuds/theconsciousdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has been seeing Dr. Lecter for therapy to help him focus; when Hannibal finds out he hasn't been following his instructions to the letter, things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pleasure of Your Trust

Will felt content resting against Hannibal, head lying against the doctor's broad chest. Hannibal had insisted Will change into more comfortable clothing, and had retrieved a pair of drawstring trousers and a lightweight shirt from the back room. He climbed back in bed, after changing, and had settled between Hannibal's long, outstretched legs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Hannibal grasped him lightly about his wrists, thumbs making small circles against the soft skin of his inner arms. Will sighed deeply, shoulders slumping, as the other man continued.

"You really must relax more often, William, the constant strain is contributing to your ill health. You need actually implement what I’ve taught you, here and in the field." Will nodded slightly, and the doctor released his wrists, sliding a cool hand to rest against Will's chest, and the other settling against his stomach.

With some incredulity, he asked, "Have you been practicing the breathing exercises I taught you?" Will made a noncommittal noise, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Show me.” Hannibal leant against large stack of pillows behind him, pulling Will backward with him. The agent concentrated for a moment, neither relaxation nor deliberate breathing being things that came easily to him. He took in a slow breath, as Hannibal had instructed, his belly rising as he counted off the seconds in his head. He held it for a moment, and then exhaled, counting again.

“Keep going, Will.” Holding his hand lightly against Will’s chest, watching the slow rise and fall of the other man’s stomach, Hannibal observed for several moments, before continuing.

“My feet feel warm and heavy.” The doctor’s voice was quiet, a low rumble that Will felt, more than heard. Will repeated after Hannibal, imaging his feet feeling warm.

“Good, Will. My legs are warm and heavy. So heavy that I couldn’t move them if I tried.”

Hannibal progressed further in this way, working his way up Will’s body, until he reached his forehead. He didn’t respond this time; instead, Hannibal felt the last of the tension leave the agent’s body. Will was completely relaxed in the doctor’s arms now, his head having fallen to the side, resting against Hannibal’s shoulder.

. . . .

A few days later, Hannibal summoned Will to his home. He’d come to the realization that there were further steps that needed to be taken with Will in order to get him to comply with the treatment he’d wanted him to work on by himself, to do what he’d been told. He knew that he wouldn’t consciously disobey him, but that there were things in his mind that prevented him. Still, he felt a twinge of wrath about this. Will seemed to be doing so well with the breathing exercises they’d practiced, but present circumstances led Hannibal to believe otherwise.

Crawford had called him, and said that Will was increasingly unable to stay in the moment, was drifting when asked questions. Earlier, Will had nearly had a panic attack while they were going over photographs of a series of murder victims he’d wanted Will to discern if there was any connection between them. Hannibal had to speak in a very roundabout way when Jack had asked him just exactly what they’d been doing.

Will arrives on time, at least. When he knocks on the door, Hannibal leads him inside; he had the air about him of someone who’d been called into the headmaster’s office to receive a scolding.

“I received a call from Jack Crawford earlier. He informed me that there was an incident today. He is unhappy with the progress that you are making. I was under the impression that we had devised techniques to prevent these things from occurring, Will. You did not attempt to recreate the feelings that we explored together?”

“I attempted to, but I’m…I can do it with you, but when I’m there…those moments are difficult to stay with.”

Hannibal lips formed a hard line as he thought about what should be done next. He couldn’t have Jack Crawford prying into his activities with Will Graham. That was not a topic he wished to discuss; divulging anything about their interactions could be problematic. Jack was often unable to see the truth of people’s relationships, but even he could discover the truth if he kept asking questions. There would have to be another, more drastic step in getting Will to focus that Hannibal now saw needed to be taken. Breathing exercises alone were clearly not enough. It was time to combine various elements of their relationship and augment them in ways that would take Will out of his own thoughts and anchor him in reality.

He stepped towards Will, breaching his space. Touching his chin, he raised the other man’s face up to meet his own unwavering gaze.

“I need to know, Will, do you trust me? Do you feel that I am committed to helping you?”

“Yes. Of course I do. I wish I could stop disappointing you.”

“I do not see you as a disappointment. Only as a work in progress.”

Will almost smiled at this. He had a deep sense of pride, bordering on reverence, that this man would think him worthy of being “worked” on at all. He took a deep breath, and said, “What can you do to help me?”

“You may think it drastic. I will put you in a state of great sensory overload. I will accomplish this by means that I will not explain to you beforehand. You will only be able to endure.”

The trepidation Will felt at that last word almost made him want to flee. But the other desire, to please Hannibal, was so much stronger.

“Okay. When…?”

“Now, I think. You will do everything I say, without question?” He put his hand on Will’s shoulder, a possessive gesture.

His mind spinning, he could only nod.

. . . . .

Will looks nervously around the room to which Hannibal has led him, already feeling slightly overwhelmed by not knowing what’s to happen. He plucks anxiously at the hem of jacket, which suddenly seems too restrictive, his other hand automatically going to adjust his glasses.

He swallows, his throat too dry, and paces to calm his nerves. Will has the foolish idea that if he practices now, perhaps Hannibal won’t inflict on him whatever he has planned.

“My feet feel warm and heavy…” Will groans, it sounds ridiculous now, if only for the fact that he knows it’s too late to change Hannibal’s mind. He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and paces again.

The doctor had left him, what seemed like hours ago, “to prepare.” _What does that even mean_ , Will wonders. He sits on Hannibal’s expensive looking couch, feeling out of place amongst all of the immaculate looking objects in the room, and stares at the floor.

“Hannibal?” He calls out uncertainly, his voice shakier than he would have liked, “where are you?”

Of course, Hannibal is taking his time to get Will to experience the maximum amount of uncertainty and trepidation about what’s to happen next. He finds a few of his less-liked ties, and other items that he’s had put away for such an eventuality. He won’t let on, but he’s pleased that Will’s difficulties have escalated. He smiles to himself when he’s alone, reflecting: _I’m going to enjoy this_. He brings the things in a cloth bag, concealing them for the immediate future.

When he finally does return to where he left him waiting, Will is full of apologies and pledges to do better next time.

“Will. You know very well that my time is valuable, and I am not interested in discussing you at length with Jack Crawford in any case. I’m afraid I am going to have to employ alternate, and more unusual methods than the ones we’ve been working with. Clearly you are either unable or unwilling to listen to my instructions. I see that I have to be much stricter with you. It may be a cliché to say this, but it’s for your own good. Now stand.”

All the nervousness Will had been feeling was intensifying exponentially; Hannibal could actually see his pulse pounding in his neck. Gentle treatment – at least, at first – was necessary. After removing his glasses, he puts one broad, warm hand on the back of the other man’s neck, while starting to unbutton his shirt. He sees Will swallow hard several times, and resists the urge to mouth at his Adam’s apple as it worked in his throat. When he gets to the lower half of the shirt, he needs both hands to unbuckle Will’s belt and then rid him of the flannel garment entirely, casting it aside. He runs a finger over Will’s collarbone, and observes he’s breathing more slowly. His focus has improved already.

Will feels a stab of shame at wasting Hannibal’s time, the feeling made worse by his own uncooperative mental state. He wants to apologize, for being the way he is, but fears the response more than he fears the silence. He looks down, staring at his shoes, until he eventually closes his eyes. Will sways slightly on his feet, unsteady, when he feels Hannibal stripping him of his shirt and belt, the cool air welcome against his skin.

He sighs, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, at the light press of Hannibal’s fingers against his collarbone. It feels gentle, and grounding, and Will shivers.

His fingers twitch, unsure if he should touch Hannibal or not, so he lets his arms hang limp at his sides.

“What are you going to do to me?” Will asks quietly, leaning into Hannibal’s touch.

“I thought you’d agreed to comply without question, Will.”

He wouldn’t say any more than that. His only answer was to unzip Will’s jeans and take them off along with his shoes and socks, so methodically and casually, that it wasn’t at all congruent with the activity he was performing. Which was, after all, stripping Will down almost completely.

Once Hannibal had done this, he takes some items of clothing out of the bag he’d brought with him that made Will’s eyes nearly fall out of his head.

“I’m don’t think you’re accustomed to putting on anything like this, but I trust you can sort out for yourself how.”

He successfully conceals how pleased he was at the look of terror on Will’s face. The other man opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if trying to figure out what to say – and then remembering not to say anything.

Will takes a deep breath and, seeming to accept his fate, slips off his boxers.

The younger man can already feel the blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck; even without his clothes he’s suddenly too warm. He takes the items from Hannibal, and holds them almost gingerly, rubbing the fine material between his fingers.

“These are expensive,” he says quietly, an undercurrent of distress evident in his voice at the thought of wearing something too luxurious. Not quite able to look him in the eye, Will sets the stockings on Hannibal’s couch and leans down to pull on the garter. He does so slowly, ignoring his usual method of dressing quickly. The black silk feels cool against his skin and Will shivers, despite himself, when the waistband comes to rest against his hips.

He looks back at the stockings, unsure if he should sit naked on Hannibal’s couch to put them on. Rather than risk asking another question, he balances carefully and slides the first one over his foot, lifting it slowly over the muscles of his calf, and up to his thigh.

Will suppresses a moan at the unfamiliar sensation and slides the other stocking on as well. He looks down at himself when he finishes, fingers brushing across his leg to feel the material again.

The straps from the garter hang against his thighs and Will fidgets, not really know what to do with them. He stares at Hannibal’s shoes, too overwhelmed to make eye contact, and too anxious to ask what he should do. He takes another deep, shuddering breath to try to calm himself.

Hannibal is not unhappy with the way that Will has accepted his instructions without too much hesitation, despite his obvious unease. Deciding to concede at least a little assistance, he lightly grips Will’s hips and turns him around. He fastens the back garters to where they belong on the posterior sides of his thighs. Turning Will back to face him, and dropping to one knee, he follows with the anterior fasteners. As if by accident, he just brushes with the side of one finger the length of Will’s exposed cock, which is now rather attractively framed. He fully anticipates the gasp this elicits. 

Standing up, he’s gratified to see that Will has not noticed he’s been positioned perfectly such that all Hannibal has to do is to push on his abdomen, unbalance him slightly, and he’s knocked off his feet, landing on the couch behind him, with his legs in the air. Before he can even react, he puts one hand on Will’s throat, looming over his face, and says only one word: “Still.”

Will’s pupils are wide and black as he sees the ties being taken from the bag. There are three; one is used to bind Will’s arms above his head, and one is fastened to each of Will’s ankles. One leg is bound easily to the foot of the couch closest to its front. But as he’s planned for this, Hannibal has a small length of rope, attached to the foot at the back of the couch, which is joined to the tie on Will’s other leg with a fisherman’s knot. Hannibal does the same with Will’s bound arms over his head with a second length of pre-positioned rope. He can move slightly, and the bindings will not grow tighter with his struggles; but only a few inches in each direction are possible. He’s spread, anchored, and fixed.

The effect is immediate and disorienting; he falls back with a startled yelp, his breath coming in a series of shallow gasps as he hits the couch. Will begins struggling the moment Hannibal finishes binding him. He tugs anxiously against the ties and length of rope, staring up at the other man with a panicked expression.

He looks around the room hurriedly, eyes darting, as if he were devising an exit strategy, despite the immediate permanency of his situation. Realizing there’s no escape, Will squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against his arm.

“Hannibal! Please!” There’s fear clearly evident in his voice as he twists uncontrollably on the couch.

There’s one last thing that Hannibal has yet to take out and show Will; a delicate pair of black lace panties. The confusion over this has the desired effect of silencing his pleas; he’s about to ask just exactly how Hannibal plans on getting them on him, as his legs are tied, when to his utter dismay, he finds them quickly stuffed in his mouth instead.  The red, shamed hue that his face takes on is exactly what Hannibal desires, along with his silence.

Hannibal trails a hand up one of Will’s stocking-clad legs, making his cock twitch. He sighs a drawn out “mmmmmm, mmmph” around his improvised gag. Teasing him, Hannibal says, “I’m afraid I can’t understand you, William,” a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. 

Will groans, eyes closing and head dropping back against the expensive fabric of Hannibal’s couch. He strains against his bonds, twisting, trying desperately to gain some leverage.

"Tsk," Hannibal chides lightly, fingers dipping into the elastics of Will’s stockings, rubbing lightly at his inner thigh. "I’d hate to have to punish you further." Snapping the stocking top ever so slightly seals a promise of what’s to come.

He steps away for a moment, leaving Will to wonder what his fate might be. His musings are quickly ended when the Doctor returns with something Will recognizes, but has never seen up close before: a flexible black riding crop.

"Now, Will, I’m fairly certain I will be able to obtain your obedience once and for all.”

This is said without malice, but with a boiling undercurrent of dark desire that Will is thoroughly familiar with. There’s a deep need to be made fully aware of the meaning of this statement, one that he feels in the pit of his stomach, and with the heat and tightening at his groin. He’s made acutely aware of the vulnerability of his rather pretty legs and sensitive thighs. Head falling to the side, he breathes hard and a bit erratically through his gag. There’s a trickling of exquisite fear down as his spine as he sees Hannibal approach, riding crop held lightly but deliberately in his capable hand. Will looks up at him briefly, before squeezing his eyes shut and shivering, back arching off Hannibal’s couch.

With an approving sigh at the man’s physical responses, Hannibal slides the soft leather of the crop’s end slowly up the silk stockings encasing the long legs encased so beautifully in black silk. He brings it up to ease under the garter, and caress the soft exposed skin. It pleases him to see the reaction this provokes in Will’s rapidly hardening cock.

Taking advantage of the fact that his movements are not being watched, Hannibal administers one well-aimed sharp _thwack_ to an inner thigh, and hums his appreciation at the perfect red mark it leaves behind on the pale flesh. It will be followed by many more before he is through. He leans down to enjoy the heat of it with his tongue, feeling the muscle quiver beneath his lips, and resists the urge to bite. For now.

Will’s eyes fly open at the sudden contact of leather against skin, his body straining against his bonds at the suddenness of impact. More from surprise than pain, Will whimpers, breathing harsh and uneven as Hannibal brings the crop down on his thigh. The muscles of his jaw work as he grinds his teeth against his gag; at the press of Hannibal’s tongue against his heated skin, Will shakily lifts his head to look down at the other man.

Meeting Will’s gaze, Hannibal said, “I thought that would get your attention. I would certainly prefer it if you watched.”

He brushes the crop with an almost imperceptibly light touch over the shaft of Will’s cock. The contrast between the gentle caress and the pain this instrument could administer was designed to be a torment in itself. But his thighs weren’t red enough meet Hannibal’s liking; this was easily fixed with a series of smacks to both of them now. The elegant arcs of his forearm and wrist as they rained down the punishing blows had Will transfixed. He couldn’t help but look, and Hannibal was pleased at the arch of his back and how his body was flushing so pink, where it wasn’t crimson.

“I love seeing you this way. I almost wish you could use your voice to beg me to touch you. You’d like that now, wouldn’t you? You’d plead for me to use you.”

The caress of the leather across his cock leaves Will struggling in vain, the touch maddening in its gentleness; he arches up, seeking contact, but finds none. Another type of touch follows, however, and Will tries to keep his eyes open to observe, even as they threaten to close on their own. Hannibal’s strikes fall quickly across his reddened thighs and Will groans deep in his throat as the pain blossoms into something that borders on pleasure.

When the strikes finally stop, Will falls back, chest heaving as he struggles to control his breathing. He feels flushed and overheated, his skin prickling with the odd sensation of fever as a bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. He hears Hannibal’s voice through the haze of his mind and turns his face away from the sound, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of being used so openly. A muffled whimper escapes his lips, one he hopes Hannibal has not heard.

Despite Will’s attempts to be as quiet as possible, the little sounds he was trying not to make were gorgeous indicators that he was falling into a state where he was completely absorbed and focused on the sensations being inflicted upon him. And the copious amount of precum leaking from his cock were yet more evidence.

"Such a debauched little whore you are. You’re so wet. I’m quite sure I could make you cum all over yourself without even masturbating you or taking you into my mouth."

Will grimaces at Hannibal’s words, but trembles slightly at the thought of finally finding release. There is an ache inside of him, a pain in the worst of ways - a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oppressive want and desire cloud Will’s mind, drowning out any thought besides the overbearing need to be touched.

There were no bruises evident on his tender flesh, but there would be a deep tissue soreness that Will would feel for days, and Hannibal decided to mark it visibly. He knelt down at Will’s upper thighs, and sucked and nipped at the abused flesh, even deeper red marks now blossoming forth and mottling the skin.

When without any warning, Will feels sharp teeth close over the already abused flesh of his thighs again, he jerks violently, attempting to bring his legs together at the overwhelming sensation, but to no avail. His shoulders ache already with the strain of his struggling, as he tries to find some semblance of leverage within his bonds. He breathes hard through his nose, feeling lightheaded at the torment, until there’s finally a moment of rest. But that is shattered when Hannibal traces the line of fluid left behind that beaded from Will’s abdomen to the tip of his cock. He briefly, teasingly tongues at the head, completely without pressure.

The light touches of Hannibal’s lips against his cock make Will shudder. He jerks his hips upwards, desperate for contact as Hannibal moves away. Will stares pleadingly up at the other man before letting his head fall back.

Seeing Will trying so hard to get the smallest amount of contact, so full of need, has brought out Hannibal’s cruelness. He wants to deny the writhing man what he wants, and to only visit upon him what he thinks he deserves. He also wants Will to see what this has done to him, so once he’s finished assaulting his thighs, he stands and unzips his trousers. Standing just inches from Will’s gagged mouth, he takes out his own huge and straining cock, and strokes himself in full view of his bound prey.

“You’d like to taste me; I can see the desire clearly on your face. I may allow it once I’m finished with you.”

He puts his erection to his trembling lower lip, and lightly traces it. Will is no longer capable of remaining quiet, and Hannibal provokes muffled whimpers from him, as he would play an instrument. But it isn’t time for this quite yet, and he moves away, large hand still moving up and down the thick shaft. He goes to a drawer in a nearby table and finds the lube that he’d concealed there.

Hannibal’s words and overt denial make Will shudder with a dizzying surge of need. He struggles forward and lifts himself as far as he’s able given his bindings; he trembles violently, due to strain, but falls back with a muffled cry when Hannibal leaves him. “Please!” he tries to say, as he watches the other man stroking himself, walking casually to his desk, but the words die behind the saliva-soaked gag filling his mouth. A sliver of panic joins the unbearable need swirling in his belly as he watches Hannibal return. He looks to the object concealed in Hannibal’s grip, and then up to briefly catch the gaze of the other man. There’s a fleeting moment of clarity through the haze of Will’s mind and he finds himself pulling frantically at his bonds, suddenly horrified to find his legs have been tied just high enough that he can gain no footing of any kind.

Hannibal caresses the smooth stockings once again, provoking his own exposed cock to visibly surge. Will can’t take his eyes off of this reaction. Despite the fact that he’s gagged, it’s obvious he’s tried to plead, and he knows, too late, that it can only make things worse.

The angle of Will’s bondage is perfect; he’s completely vulnerable, legs spread wide. The Doctor lubricates a few fingers on one hand, and massages Will’s perineum, at first lightly, then with more pressure. He knows this is maddening, and loves seeing how it makes Will practically thrash with overstimulation.

It’s almost a mercy when he starts to penetrate Will’s ass with one long finger.

Hannibal hums with pleasure, smiling obscenely, and says, “How tight you are for me, William.” He adds a second, beginning to curl them forward to stroke Will’s prostate, keeping the pressure on the sensitive outer places with a slightly-rough thumb. He can make this go on for as little or as much time as he wishes.

Will’s thoughts are coming at a rapid-fire pace, flitting by so quickly it’s impossible to hang on to even a thread of coherency. He bucks up again Hannibal’s fingers, rubbing a maddening rhythm into him, even as he tries to pull away from too much stimulation. With no frame of reference for what’s happening, for what Hannibal is doing to him, Will’s struggles to find an anchor to reality. He throws his head back when he feels Hannibal slide the second finger inside - having long since forgotten where his body exists in space, or even if he exists at all. The back of his skull connects with a dull thump against Hannibal’s Freudian couch before his head falls to the side. His heart hammers wildly; he can feel it pounding out a punishing rhythm in his temples, his eyes – his fading vision pulsing red around the edges with each thunderous beat. He cries openly now, plaintively with agonized need, choking on his gag. His breathing descends into an erratic stride, a harsh and pained noise in the otherwise quiet room.

Hannibal’s dilemma is that he wants to see Will come undone, but has no desire to stop this anytime soon. So he decides to prolong it, taking his time almost gently assaulting Will’s stretched hole. He also slowly, languidly, uses his other hand to continue stroking himself. Will’s cries are a symphonic ecstasy to him; he’s subsumed in lust. Watching him struggle and thrash, out of control, is Hannibal’s alone to enjoy. Will is his.

He’s so close himself now; he holds Will on the edge of release until he’s almost ready for it himself. He aims more directly at Will’s prostate, sharp precise hits that will give him what he wants to see. Will’s head lolls about his shoulders, as if it were too much effort to hold it up any longer, even as he feels the muscles of his chest and stomach clenching hard, an involuntary reaction to slow his frantic breathing.

The intimate, gentle touches are the most torturous to process with his fading reserves – the slow press and slide of Hannibal’s fingers leaves him weak and lightheaded. He shakes violently when he feels the other man stretching him again, only to have a muffled scream torn from his lips when Hannibal starts pressing against his prostate with brutal accuracy. Will surges up, body tight and straining against all his bonds, as his cries give way to agonized sobs.

"Ready to cum for me, William? I want to see what I’ve done to you."

He watches Will stiffen, his head back, neck strained as far as it can go, the blood in his jugular vein visibly pulsing; watches as Will’s breath hitches in his throat, and as he hyperventilates.

Finally, at long last, Hannibal thrusts his fingers hard and fast enough that Will’s body has no choice but to let go. A gushing torrent of thick cum shoots in ropes from Will’s angry red cock, drenching him from abdomen to neck. It seems unending, and Will loses his sense of time.

Hannibal finds it beautiful. He’s able to sear this image into his memory, and will be able to call upon it forever. But he’s not finished creating this experience just yet. He’s ready to mark the writhing mess beneath him. And to let Will taste.

Will feels himself falling backward with the strain of his orgasm, only dimly aware of his surroundings, as if everything were coming to him through a thick fog. He has no concept of how much time has passed, only that he feels drained to the very core. He hears what he thinks to be himself, a pained whimper as his cock still leaks against his belly. His mind is blank in the aftermath, his thoughts drifting and unclear. He feels as though all his strings have been cut - an instrument of his own bondage now, too weak to lift himself, even if his arms were unbound. He moans quietly, looking up at Hannibal.

Hannibal looks down at Will, a devious smirk playing at his mouth. He doesn’t take his eyes off Will’s sweat-drenched face while he continues to bring himself quickly to his own release. Will watches, unthinking.

"You’ve done very well. I’m quite convinced that your therapy is progressing at the appropriate pace. But you must be very thirsty."

With that, he finally rips the gag out of Will’s mouth. It’s soaked in perspiration and spit. This act brings Will a little more back to consciousness, and he gasps for air…

Just in time for Hannibal to drench his face and neck and mouth and tongue with semen. Even the usually composed Doctor Lecter groans and sighs out Will’s name as he obscenely marks him. It’s as much a claiming as if he branded Will.

He’s pleased to see Will coming back to himself, regulating his breathing, focusing his eyes, and licking his lips. Will is startled back to himself when he hears the other man say his name. He’d groaned loudly when Hannibal’s release splatters against him - an absurd and mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he felt a thick line of Hannibal’s cum and his own saliva slide from his bottom lip, dropping on to his chest. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, finally able to fill his lungs, and suddenly everything requires too much effort. He slumps to the side, body exhausted and unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his ribs.

Will lifts his eyes to the man hovering over him and a fine shudder passes through his aching, overused muscles. He darts his tongue out to taste the mess left upon his lips, keeping his gaze locked on Hannibal, and moans.

Hannibal smoothly moves to untie Will from his bonds. He holds his arms to let them down slowly; movement that is too fast would cause pain from disuse. He places them gingerly at his sides, and goes to do the same for his legs, guiding his hips gently down on the couch. Once finished, he kneels at Will’s head, smoothing the plastered hair from his forehead, and kissing his still-wet lips until he begins to kiss back.

He needs to get Will upstairs to the shower to ease his aching muscles under the hot water as soon as possible. Because the other man is such a soaked mess, Hannibal decides to strip off his suit then and there to avoid getting it stained. He neatly places each article of clothing over a chair, and Will watches, fascinated. It’s so unlike his own way of undressing, fast and dully. His clothes and method of removing them are utilitarian and instrumental, not like the scene unfolding before him, which is graceful.

Will smiles as he watches Hannibal undress, loving the way the other man moves with such elegance and refinement. He’s already bordering on the edge of sleep when Hannibal finishes, and he feels himself being lifted and brought carefully upstairs.

Hannibal easily lifts up the limp body and carries Will up the stairs to the bathroom adjacent his bedroom. He places him on the bench inside the large marble shower enclosure, and turns on the water. When it’s the right temperature, he takes the handheld showerhead down from where it’s hooked, and adjusts it to the optimum setting to soothe soreness away.

Content to let Hannibal do as he pleases to him in his exhausted state, Will leans forward, little more than dead weight now, and rests his head against the other man’s abdomen. The rise and fall of Hannibal’s measured breaths are intensely calming and, coupled with the rhythmic drum of the water against his back, he is pulled down into semi-sleep.

“I’m very tired,” he says quietly, lips brushing against Hannibal’s stomach, even as a weary smile tugs at his mouth.

Hannibal cleans his chest and face and caresses his overextended shoulders. He observes that he’ll have to remember to check for swelling in the morning. Feeling Will’s head resting on him, so trusting, makes his cock stir once again. If Will wasn’t so thoroughly worn out tonight, he’d have taken him, hard, in his bed. But that could wait until the morning.

 “You’ve done so well. I’m terribly pleased.” There’s warmth and pride in Hannibal’s voice. Will had never been so thoroughly present as he’d been during this ordeal

Once Will’s sufficiently cleansed, he turns off the water, and wraps a towel around his shoulders. He gets out, and dries off as quickly as he is able, then helps Will to his feet, toweling him in turn.

The bedroom is dark where he leads Will to lie down, who had used his last ounce of strength to walk the few steps required. He’s almost drifted off when he senses Hannibal sliding in behind him, an arm over his chest, and soft lips at his neck. The last thing he hears before sleep claims him is one whispered word: “Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of hopefully many collaborations that started out as a spontaneous back-and-forth on Tumblr. The wonderful, awful things that can happen when two Hannigram writers find they have similar ideas!


End file.
